


The Hiding Game

by AeBolek9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Swearing, before season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeBolek9/pseuds/AeBolek9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work in progress. If you would like me to continue the story please leave a comment at the end so I know that someone wants me to finish it. Thank you for reading and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Hiding Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. If you would like me to continue the story please leave a comment at the end so I know that someone wants me to finish it. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to continue with the story. I am going to tell you now that my chapters will be like James Patterson's. Some times they can be long depending on what I am telling, but most of the time they will be short because I like to consist with one scene at a time. Again, Enjoy!

**1 month after the fall**

A man leaned over in his chair, his hands cupped his face. Tears danced down  his eyes.

“Oh God, not again.” he cried. The scene of Sherlock jumping replayed in his head. John started to shake. Everything in his body body crumbled. He just didn’t understand. “Dammit Sherlock! Why Sherlock? WHY?” John shouted at the gunshot wall. “Why the hell would you just leave me like this? Huh? Because you were a fake? Because you hated me? Huh Sherlock?! DAMMIT SHERLOCK ANSWER ME!” John dropped the gun like it was on fire. He collapsed on to the floor. “Answer me.... Answer me please.” he whimpered hugging his knees to his chest crying. Sherlock just stood there, outside the door listening to John’s crys.

“Because I love you.” Sherlock turned and walked down the stairs to Baker Street. Sherlock knew he needed to tell John. Not now though. John would literally kill him. He needed to think it through. But, when he thought of John, he couldn’t think straight. His mind was clouded with emotions he’d never felt. Now with Moriarty dead, and hopefully, his followers gone, Sherlock could only think of John. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He heard the door slam upstairs and feet stomping down the stairs. Sherlock scrambled for a hat and put it on. He flipped the collar of his coat up. John came speeding down and knocked into Sherlock.

“Oh I am sor-” John looked up and noticed Sherlock’s crystal blue eyes as he continued on. He then realized what he saw and turned around. “Sherlock!” he yelled, excitement in his eyes, but the man was gone. “Dammit Sherlock! Come back! Please!” The joy left from him, his face growing ten years older. Sherlock is dead you bloody idiot. He turned around and continued down the hall. Sherlock came out from around the corner, trying so hard not to run down and tackle John in a hug and kiss him telling him he was okay. Sherlock looked up the staircase when he noticed a man leaning out the window with a gun trained on John. Sherlocks face crumpled as he thought, _I can never tell John._

 

**1 year later**

“John, I really think you should come with me. It would be really good for you.” Molly said to John trying to get him out of his chair.

“Why the hell would I do that for? Go to his grave? Are you kidding me? He has broken me beyond repair. I do not want to go Molly.”

“Do not make me go get Ms. Hudson. She will drag your ass out of that chair if you do not get out of it now!” Molly grabbed on to John’s arm and pulled him.

“Fine!” he shouted standing up in his chair, “Ruin me again! Do you want to watch me break again? Do you want me to cry?” He dropped down on his knees with the newspaper article face up, flashing the headline: FAKE DETECTIVE”S DEATH ANNIVERSARY. John snatched the paper from the ground, crumpled it up, and chucked it into the blazing fire.

“It is not that I want to see you upset, John. I just want to do what’s best for you. And I think it would be best for you to go visit him.”

“What do _you_ know?!” He sneered at her, “You didn’t love him at all! You just had some silly, childish crush on a man who could never love you!”

“You think I didn’t love him?!” Molly screeched into the air, “I loved him since the first time I worked with him! I knew he could never love me back, but that did not stop me from trying! I haven’t gone on a date in 5 _years_ because I believed I could change him! Do not tell me that I didn’t love him! Because I did with my whole heart!"

"Why would you ever love a man who is cold hearted? Huh? You really tried hard I see, because he commited SUICIDE. Do you not remember that? If you really loved him couldn't you have saved him? HUH? Did you really love him? Did you try to stop him? NO!" John grabbed the gun and threw it at the wall, shattering it.

"Why are you so upset!? I am just trying to help you! Can you not accept help!” Molly grabbed her coat of the chair and ran out of the apartment. Sherlock hid in the shadows hearing the whole thing. He wished that he could go tell Molly that he knew she loved him, and he loved her, but as a friend. He wished he could comfort her, but like John, a sniper was trained on Molly. Sherlock has followed this sniper for the past year, trying to see if there was a blind spot on him. As far as Sherlock could tell, there was no opening. If he was gone, there was another one on duty. He is hoping that maybe, just maybe, they will slip up where then he can make his move. There is one thing he knows for certain though; they know that he is alive.

Sherlock turns back to the door that is now wide open from where Molly stormed out. John laid on the floor of the flat, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping that it will stop him from crying. Sherlock just stood, watching as John rolled over and grabbed his cane. John started heading to the door. Sherlock quick fell back into the shadows of the staircase. John walked right by Sherlock without a glance his way. John crutched his way outside, calling out for a cab. _Maybe Molly is right_ , John thought to himself, _Maybe I should see Sherlock_. Then John got into a cab and drove off. Sherlock got in one too and followed him.

 

John walked across the soft grass. He stepped over gravestones and mounds of fresh dirt. Soon he reached a headstone that read: SHERLOCK HOLMES. John kneeled down into the still fresh dirt, tears stinging his eyes. “Sherlock,” he started off, “The truth is, I love you. I know I have seemed mad and upset at you because of your fall from grace, but it really is because I love you. I love you so god damn much. I can not even put into words how much I love you. And I love you now. Not then because I can not believe you are-” the words choked out of him. He collapsed onto the mound of dirt and cried. Sherlock covered his mouth, so that he would not call out to John. Then, Sherlock watched from a distance, scoping out the place, when he noticed no one was watching John. He had his chance. He started to walk forward, careful not to make a sound, when a hand clasped over his mouth and dragged him far away from John. Far enough away where John would not hear them talk.

“What do you think you are doing?” said a gruff voice from beneath the mask.

“Why, I was just going to visit my friend over there.” Sherlock said trying to keep his voice even.

“Well, if you ever talk to him, we will kill him. You hear me? Moriarty made sure that there are snipers trained on him at all times. So lay one finger on him, make any type of communication to him and it is good bye John Watson.” And then man disappeared into the forest of trees behind them. This is why Sherlock was hiding. He could not bear to lose John. So that ment he had to keep watching from a far. He had to watch and see if John could get on with his life, with out Sherlock. He could never see John look him in the eyes. He had to be the rational man he was and keep John safe. After all, John is Sherlock's only friend, the only person Sherlock loves. Once he was for sure no one was watching, Sherlock allowed himself to collapse next to a tree and cry for once in his life.

Sherlock dragged his body over to the subway station, trying to catch the last train of the day. He fell into a seat and just stared ahead at the newspaper in a man’s hands. Sherlock was so out of it that he forgot to put on his disguise.

“Hey. Hey you across the way!” The man with the newspaper shouted at Sherlock, “Aren’t you that detective that is all over the news today?”

“No you must be mistaken, I look nothing like him.” Sherlock feeling nervous.

“That is true. You do not have a big gash in your head.” the man laughed thinking his joke was funny.

“You are a fool.” And Sherlock stood up from his seat, and started to walk down the aisle when the man with the mask came on from one end. Sherlock spinned on his heel to walk the opposite way when John walked on to the subway. Sherlock swiveled his head back to the man in the mask and the man was laughing and smiling. This was a cruel joke. Sherlock knew then man planned this. He got a kick out of seeing Sherlock suffer or maybe he just wanted to have an excuse to kill John. Sherlock did not know what to do. John was heading this way and the man was watching. So Sherlock did the only thing he could think of, “Hey! Look! There is a man jumping from the train!” John turned around to see if it was true. Sherlock then ran down the aisle the opposite way of John. He reached the next car and stayed there until the subway stopped for the night.

 

\----------------------

John got off of the subway, still confused why a man would just say someone was jumping and then run away. Did that man never lose someone to suicide? Did he not understand how painful it was for John? John looked up into the sky. He replayed the scene over and over in his head. Sherlock jumping, the screaming, the crying, the sierins. John shook his head, holding back the tears. He walked up the stairs to the flat. When he opened the door, Molly, Ms. Hudson, Mycroft, and Lestrade were standing in the flat.

“What is going on here?” John questioned, moving cautiously across the room.

“Molly called us up after your outburst this morning dear.” Ms. Hudson said to John, “Please sit down dear.”

“But why are you all here?” John sat down in the chair, sinking into the cushion.

“We are worried that you are not getting out enough John. You seem like you have become a thing of a hermit.” Mycroft said, looking at John sadly. John looked around the room, realizing that he is not the only one that was missing Sherlock. Mycroft was missing a brother, Lestrade is missing his best detective, Ms. Hudson is missing her renter, and Molly, Molly was missing her love.

“Molly, I am so sorry. I know you loved him, I really do. I was just mad. I thought I was the only person in the world who cared for him because I was there the day he fell. I saw it happen. So it made me think I was the only person in the world who cared enough to be there for him in his final moments. I am sorry to you all. Please forgive me.”

“We do forgive you John,” Molly said moving in for a hug, “We just want to help you by setting you up on a date. We want you to move on from Sherlock. You know that is what he would want.”

“I will go on this date I guess. But Molly, only if you go on one too. You and me have to move on. You need to go out and meet a nice young man. Please say you will Molly.”

“I will.” Molly and John hugged.

 

“So who did you all have in mind for me to date?” John said eating the panini he had just made for everyone.

“I have a co-worker,” said Lestrade, stuffing his face with the heavenly panini, “She is a real looker. We have the date set up for you this Saturday, so come in your best. It is right down the street in a new restaurant called The French Mistake.”

“Oh,” said John, “What kind of food do they serve there?”

“Pizza.”

“Pizza?”

“Yes, Pizza. It is the french’s mistake for not coming up with pizza first.”

“Oh, well then, that sounds... lovely.”

“Hey, you won’t even care about the food after you see her.”

 

John walked down the street, his hands in his pockets. He finds The French Mistake’s front door. He walks in and his nose is molested with the smell of heavenly pizza. The pizza smelled as good as the gunpowder Sherlock always left around the flat. No. You can not think of him tonight. John paused at the door. Was this really a good idea? He didn’t think he could get over Sherlock. Every moment he had alone he thought of Sherlock. How he looked when he shot the gun. His hair sweeping over his eyes in little curls. His eyes lighting so bright that you know that he is having a crazy idea. _Stop it. Don’t do that to yourself. Just try and have a good time and DO NOT THINK OF SHERLOCK._

 


End file.
